d that hereafter he is to be
solely in my care, or not at all."

As she rehearsed these words in her mind, Miss Eastman went
hurrying through the streets. Twilight had set in, close and
sultry, with low grumblings of thunder, and there was that
stillness in the air, that strange sense of waiting, which
precedes the storm. Gray, scarf-like films were speeding across
the black-purple sky, and were suddenly rent by a zig-zag quiver
of blue-white fire. The trees along the walk flamed green, and
then were dark again, and overhead a flight of pigeons clove the
air with a rushing of swift wings. An instant later a whirling
litter of straws, flapping newspapers, and dust came swishing
down the pavement, and with the coming of this first strong gust
of wind was a noise of slamming doors and the sound of windows
being quickly lowered. With the swift and vigorous whiff of storm
came the good, cooling smell of rain.

Miss Eastman paid no heed. She was too indignant and too hurt to
think much about so trifling a matter as a shower, and when she
reached the house of Dr. Redfield it further exasperated her that
she should be kept waiting upon his doorstep. Twice, and a third
time, she gave the bell an energetic pull, but no one answered.
The gush of water from the roof tinkled loudly in the tin
drain-pipes, but throughout the dwelling there was a tomb-like
silence. Presently, though, Miss Eastman heard a "squadgy" tread
that was steadily drawing nearer. When the door was at last
cautiously opened she caught a glimpse of the housekeeper, the
discreet and red-faced Mrs. Botz. As the shiny countenance
leisurely appeared, the woman revealed two flour-coated fingers
pressed upon her heavy lips.

"Herr Doctor iss maybe gone to sleep already," she whispered;
then she laughed a wheezy chuckle that shook her ponderous bust.
She pointed up the hallway to something under the light of the
oil lamp which much resembled a fat rag doll. The queer object
was shaking with strange contortions in the place where the
hall-bell should have hung. "I play him one good trick, ain't
it?" she added. "Mit a towel I tie up the bell-knocker--zo!" She
illustrated with her flour-dusted hands. "Den I wrap him round
like one sore foot. _Hoffentlich_, nopody vill vake him up if he
iss sleeping."

"But why, Mary, why should he be asleep? Is he so tired, then?"

"Ach, mein lieber Gott! Do you not know? It iss Duck Town. Vonce
more yet a funeral. I know from his